


Loyalty

by Psychicsniper



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amputation, Blood and Gore, Bodily Fluids, Death, Explicit Language, Interrogation, M/M, Rage, Rape, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:31:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2620220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psychicsniper/pseuds/Psychicsniper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Choe Gu-Sung is used as a medium to get back at Makishima.</p><p>Setting is literally right after the events of the Specimen Case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anything But Latent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kougami deals with grief by taking it out on the closest person to Makishima, Choe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the second chapter first, and as such, I posted it first. Then I thought, how could I scare more people in to thinking that I'm a homicidal psychopath? Right! I'll give you the gory details on how Choe Gu-Sung became well... what he is.
> 
> Yamada Taro is the Japanese equivalent of "John Doe."

Kougami Shinya closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath before he touched the door handle.

He never knew it would, or even could, ever come to this.  The pneumatic nail gun was shaking in his right hand as he turned the handle and burst through the open door, effectively taking the occupant by surprise, a fact he could surmise by the clattering of metal falling to the floor. The man attempted to flee, but as Kougami was blocking the only exit, the man had nowhere to run.

How could his emotions cloud his judgment so? How could he let it happen? He aimed the nail gun carefully and shot the man in the left hand. The man let out a yelp as the nail pierced his skin. Why on earth was he doing this? He was never the kind to immediately resort to violence. He was never the kind to haphazardly chase someone down. Perhaps Sasayama’s traits did rub off on him, after all.

He didn’t sleep for almost 96 hours after he found Sasayama’s body, as it seemed every time he closed his eyes, he saw the mutilated body of someone he called a friend. Perhaps someone he called a lover was more appropriate. He aimed for the man’s left ankle and fired another nail into the joint, the man screamed in pain as he fell to the floor. Blood was splattered all over the left side of the man’s tight-fitting clothing. The blood made his dark-red pants a darker, more sinister shade of red, and his black leather jacket glistened with the blood from the hand he was holding to his chest, in a very futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

He calmly closed the door behind him and stepped toward his victim. “Name,” he commanded, as he placed a firm kick to the man’s sternum.  
He heard a dull, sickening snap as the resistance the man’s chest provided against his shoe quickly became soft. The man at his feet coughed forcefully as he attempted to get up.

“Name,” Kougami repeated just as forcefully, becoming angrier by the second.

The man did not give up his name, but instead stared up at the dark-haired, grey-eyed man with a face that was entirely was too serene for the man’s current circumstances. It was almost like the face Sasayama would show him when they sparred, and odd combination of “bring it, bitch,” and stoic concentration, avoiding showing acknowledgement of the pain of a blow to the face, or in the man’s case, two seeping, open fractures.

The man’s two-tone red and yellow eyes were almost disturbing, a fact Kougami had to ensure he didn’t let show. “Name,” Kougami persisted.  
“Yamada Taro,” the man coughed.  
“The registrations for your vehicle and this facility are under that name. But you wouldn't be that stupid.”

The bleeding man on the floor stayed silent, with a defiant look on his face. Kougami took a few steps back and surveyed the room the two men were in. It contained tools, of nearly every kind. There were the staple tools; hammers, screwdrivers, power tools, but with sealed containers labeled with words like ‘scalpels,’ ‘bone saw blades,’ ‘trepanning equipment,’ ‘syringes,’ ‘osteotomes,’ and ‘dermatome’ dotted around the impeccably clean workshop.  “You aren’t Makishima,” Kougami said absentmindedly as he opened the container labeled ‘dermatome.’

The man on the floor half chuckled, half coughed, “well done.”

Kougami grasped the item and pulled it out, “… so, what’s a ‘dermatome?’ Something for the skin, right?” Kougami mused aloud as he grabbed a neatly coiled electrical extension cords off the wall and plugged it in.

“Oh! Right, I’ve heard of these. They’re a little outdated, but they were used to remove skin for grafts, right? For burn victims, right? Kind of like a vegetable peeler, but for humans,” Kougami continued to mockingly muse aloud.

The man remained silent. “I’ve always wanted to know how these things worked…”

“This is a poor attempt at intimidation,” the man on the floor said, sounding bored. The man was right. Kougami wouldn’t get information from him by bluffing.

Kougami plugged in the surgical instrument and closed his hand around the lever and handle, the machine made a rather unnerving scraping noise.  
The man on the floor seemed unimpressed.

Kougami placed the device on a counter and instead picked up a role of silver duct tape and his nail gun. He all but ripped off the man’s black leather jacket and threw it aside. He grabbed the bloodied hands of the man on the floor and taped them together. The man struggled against Kougami’s grasp as Kougami nailed his hands into the wood of a drawer above the man’s head.

“How did you find this place?” the man asked, finally giving up against the clearly stronger man.

“I noticed your vehicle, the delivery truck, at the crime scene. And I tracked it here,” Kougami’s demeanor had changed, the mocking tone had drained from his voice, and he returned to his normal serious nature.

Kougami quickly grabbed a scalpel from the box and returned. He placed the blade just inside the armhole and dragged the blade along, to cut it from his body. The man looked almost intrigued. Kougami opted to remove the man’s pants manually, instead of struggling with the scalpel, and then cut the man’s underwear away, exposing him completely. The man looked even more intrigued, he sarcastically chimed, “Are you going to make love to me, Inspector?”

Kougami rose to grab the dermatome and kneeled between the man’s knees. He completely ignored the question, “Name.”

The man remained defiant. Kougami grasped the lever and handle and raked it along the outside of the man’s right thigh. The man yelped before regaining his composure. The skin fell from his leg and onto the floor, folded over itself like a thin cut of meat. Kougami repeated the movement a few more times until all of the skin from the man’s right thigh was in a pile next to him. The man winced in agony and tried to escape the source of the pain, the skin began to seep blood and plasma.  Kougami straddled the man’s left leg and made one long pass along the man’s left oblique, “Its Choe Gu-Sung,” the man finally yelped.

Kougami couldn’t believe what he was doing. Skinning a man alive? Where did his professionalism and sense of justice go?

He stared at the man for a moment, and sighed. This one clearly had a very small role in Sasayama’s death, but as insignificant as it was, it was a role nonetheless. The vision of Sasayama’s mutilated corpse flashed before his eyes. Choe Gu-Sung was guilty by association.

Kougami stood and looked around the room again as Choe’s open, seeping wounds continued to bead yellowish plasma making him stick to the floor. He found massive containers filled with sterile gauze, of which he removed many boxes and placed them on the counter. Kougami saw a small black refrigerator in the far corner of the workroom and decided to investigate. He opened the door and found rows upon rows of small glass vials filled with different medicines. A bottle of the potent narcotic Fentanyl stuck out to him. He removed the small glass vial and set it on the countertop. Choe had regained some of his composure and sneered with a hint of pain, “Are we going to play doctor?”

“I assumed you’d have a body hidden in here,”Kougami replied, ignoring the question.

“That’s why you’re an inspector, and not an enforcer… Though, now that you’ve skinned someone alive, do you think you’ll stay that way?”

Kougami stayed silent as he grabbed a few scalpels, a syringe, some extra needles, and a bone saw, and placed them near his victim along with the gauze, and the vial of Fentanyl.  “You seem so very motivated to get to the bottom of this mess. Yet you’re playing with me?” Choe asked.

“You’ll have to do until I find Makishima.”

Choe chuckled, “Good luck.”

“A man like you will do anything to stay alive, even give up his partner,” Kougami squatted next to his victim and pressed one needle horizontally through the skin on Choe’s left pectoral. Choe hissed and squirmed. Kougami placed another, and another, until he created a circle of needles in his chest. Choe looked down, “Oh look, a flower?”

Kougami ignored him and looked up at the wall of tools.

“Your mind must be so clouded. Everything must be turned all around for you. You’re conflicted because you want revenge for your friend, but at the same time, you cannot do anything. You have nowhere else to go, so instead you grasp for the weakest link. Or what you think is the weakest link.”

The wall of tools contained a laser saw. Choe knew what the dark-haired man was looking at. “You’re better off using the anticoagulant and the cauterizing wand, rather than the laser saw. Sawing off a limb is a lot harder than one might think, Inspector, but then again, if you were an Enforcer, you would have known that,” Choe continued to taunt him.

Kougami continued to say nothing as he stared down at his victim.

“Top drawer far left hand side along the wall across from us. It’s a brown glass jar. It’ll be behind the condoms and lubricant. Cauterizing wand is above me. Grab some clamps too.”

Kougami opened the drawer, and sure enough, there the powder coagulant was, just as he had instructed, behind the lubricant and condoms. Kougami imagined the Choe and Makishima, fervently making love, bent over the worktable or against the wall. Then the faces changed, Sasayama’s hot breath on the back of his neck, pinning him against the wall, biting Kougami’s neck as he came--. “I know what you’re thinking… Inspector. Yes, we’re lovers. But those are for drug smuggling,” Choe’s voice abruptly pulled him from his thoughts.

Kougami shook off the suggestive images in his brain, turned to his victim, ignored the suggestive comment, and said, “I really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to kill you. I want Makishima, and I know you can help me. You can save yourself a lot of pain if you just tell me where he is.”

“Yes, yes I can. I can do many things, but that doesn’t mean I do them. You’ll want some gloves, they’re below the condom drawer, and there’s an apron in the drawer below that.”

Kougami stared at the man, “You’re helpful. Not in the way I would like, but you’re helpful. Why?”

“I’d rather die than give up Makishima. Don’t take that as a cliché lover’s phrase, that was not the intention.  I would actually rather be dead than betray him. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen someone do it, but I’m sure it would get quite ugly if they did. Surely he would do something worse than your mind can conjure.  And beside that, you mustn’t go out with blood all over your shirt. People will talk.”

Kougami stood still after grabbing his gloves and foregoing the apron, seemingly lost in thought.

“You’re stalling. Oh, I really don’t like blood, exponentially more so if it is my own. Make this easier on yourself, and just give me whatever you pulled from the refrigerator, and I’ll sleep through whatever you plan to do.”

“How will I interrogate you if you are too high to be conscious?”

“How will you interrogate me if I am bleeding and unconscious? We both know this isn’t completely about getting information. This is revenge. He humiliated you, and your friend. He left his body in such a grotesque manner, disrespecting it.”

“Touma Kouzaburou did it. They’re apprehending him now. Makishima…”

“Helped?” Choe offered.

Kougami plugged in the bone saw and double gloved his hands.

Kougami was quickly getting irritated, angry at the sound of the man’s voice. Anger. Something he was so removed from. He never let his anger or frustration show; yet now he found himself standing over a man he had every intention to…

“Better start soon, Inspector. Someone’s going to miss you. You know, Touma never hesitated. Perhaps you should take a lesson from his experience? I’m sure he took much pleasure out of vivisecting your friend. Wait…” He paused and a nasty smirk pasted itself on his face, “He was much more than that wasn’t he? Oh, Inspector, sleeping with your Enforcers is looked down upon; you know that.”

“Shut up.”

“You sure he even liked you? Maybe he’d go down on you under the desk to get out of doing paperwork?” The anger in Kougami’s face was starting to show, Choe knew he’d hit a sensitive topic, “Or perhaps he’d bend you over his couch to make up for a mistake? Or perhaps there wasn’t anyone else? Were you a last resort?”

            He could hear his heart pounding in his head; adrenaline was coursing through his veins. Neurons were firing at the speed of light. Then Kougami’s brain went numb. It was as if someone else was controlling his body, and he was merely a bystander in his own brain. Like playing a videogame, watching his actions on the screen, but feeling nothing. Not the ground beneath his knees, nor the blood splattering upon his face, nor the scalpel in his hand as he delved the sharp knife into the man’s abdomen. He felt empty.

            Choe began to bleed profusely from his new orifice. Kougami pulled his hands down and laid his body on the floor as he poured the coagulation powder into the wound, “Tell me where he is.”

            Choe chuckled, though he was clearly in pain.

            “Where is Makishima?” Kougami placed the scalpel against the man’s groin and drew it forcefully against the skin and clamped off and effectively cauterized the gushing femoral artery. He grabbed the electric bone saw, placed it against Choe’s femur just below the hip joint and turned it on. The high-pitched mechanical whine, the man’s screaming and the sound of metal cutting through bone assaulted his ears. He went completely through the bone and continued through the flesh until the leg was no longer attached. He burned the wound shut with the cauterizing wand then pressed the gauze to the man’s leg and duct taped it to his body. He couldn’t stop himself as he moved on to the other leg, amputating it mid-thigh, and finished by placing gauze on the cauterized stump. The room began to reek of blood and burning flesh, puffs of smoke arose from the wounds as he burned them. He moved on to the left arm, foregoing the scalpel altogether as he began to use the bone saw to cut through the skin, leaving it ragged and utterly destroyed. He cauterized the wound and wrapped it with gauze then looked up, and Choe was unconscious.

            “Shit. Shit. Shit! Shit!!” his angry voice got louder and louder as he realized his chances at getting information from the man were now very slim. He stood up, covered in Choe’s blood and screamed as he began to repeatedly kick the man on the floor angrily. Hot tears began to stream down his face as he continued to scream in agony. “I hate you!” he screamed at the unconscious heavily bleeding figure at his feet.

“I hate you!” He repeated as he fell to his knees and grabbed a scalpel.

“I hate you!” He kept repeating as he plunged the blade into Choe’s left eye.

The sound of crunching glass and snapping silicon echoed in the room. A sickening squish and pop echoed as Kougami pulled the scalpel away, taking the man’s prosthetic eye with it. He began to punch the man’s face repeatedly, screaming ‘I hate you,’ with furious tears rushing from his eyes. He grabbed the vial of Fentanyl and a syringe, filled the syringe completely and injected it directly into the empty socket fully intending to overdose his victim. His entire body was shaking as he suddenly stood and threw a stool across the workroom then flipped over the worktable, before his knees buckled and he fell to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

His heartbeat began to slow as he started to calm down. He looked back at the dismembered man on the floor and immediately felt the stomach acid begin to make it’s way up his esophagus. He leapt up and ran to the sink beside the small black refrigerator, and retched into the sink. He coughed forcefully before retching again. In between forceful coughs and labored breathing, a small note above the refrigerator caught his eye. He turned on the water and rinsed the bitter stomach acid from his mouth and turned his attention to the note: ‘Vial Contents Diluted.’

“Shyster,” he thought to himself as he turned and watched Choe’s breathing.

Perhaps this was his chance. He could get something from Choe when he woke up. Perhaps he would get Makishima after all. He looked to his left and noticed a chemical hazard shower; then looked down at himself and promptly turned around to retch again.

About ten minutes later, after he was sure his entire digestive tract was devoid of any and all liquids, he stumbled out the door and out to his car. The air was cold and oddly quiet, not a soul or a scanner was around. Makishima clearly had good taste when it came to waterside storage and workshop facilities. He opened the trunk and pulled out a set of clean clothes, inwardly thanking Ginoza for nagging him about having an extra set available just in case. He grabbed a water bottle from his car and returned to the workroom.

He stripped out of his bloodstained clothes and stepped under the incredibly cold water of the hazard shower. The water beaded and caressed his skin as red became replaced with clear. After he was satisfied with his now clean body, he dried himself off with some clean gauze pads and dressed himself. He put his heavy coat on and began to straighten the furniture he had unceremoniously thrown across the room. He placed the worktable in it’s proper upright position, finding it heavier than it was when he threw it, and set the stool up so that he could sit in it comfortably and watch Choe’s breathing, waiting in anticipation for the man to wake.


	2. Wet Coughs

He awoke to the smell of blood and another smell he couldn’t quite place, so strong he choked on the air as it relentlessly burned his throat.

The concrete he lay upon was barely the same temperature as him, and it stuck to his skin as if he were resting upon a human-sized sticky vermin trap.

He opened his right eye only to be temporarily blinded by the flimsy but intense halogen light casting an almost celestial bluish-white aura around him.

‘Is this ‘our’ storage facility?” he thought, drowsily.

His head was pounding. He closed his eye and shifted uncomfortably in the pool of what he surmised must have been someone else’s coagulated blood. Couldn’t be his. No. Everything was fuzzy, like when a limb falls asleep. His face felt swollen, his lips were burning and cracked.

He managed to move his hand to touch his face, feeling the cold, clamminess against his forehead. His eyebrows. His eyelashes. Wait.

His left eyelid sunk into its socket unnaturally so. And those were not eyelashes. Stitches.

His heart started pounding as he became increasingly aware of his body, brain quickly taking inventory of what he had. And what he didn’t.

He moved his right hand along his torso in a way that might have been considered erotic, if given the right context.

“Neck. Present.”

“Chest, actively oozing lacerations”, he noted.

“Abdomen, large laceration, many… Stitches? No,” he thought, “Staples.”

“Right oblique. Tender. Did they take a kidney?”

His fingers brushed over his right hipbone, then hit a sudden drop. “Leg? Leg?” Only gauze remained where his toned leg formerly originated. It seeped a viscous fiuid under the pressure of his fingers. His heart kept pounding as he quickly began to identify the smell. Burned skin.

He felt his way horizontally across his lower abdomen, brushing beside his liberated, but clearly cold, limp, penis. “At least that was still there.”

His right hand continued its search. Left leg? “Yes,” he felt lower “Yes.”

And lower  “Yes.”

Until about mid-thigh where the tips of his fingers sensed the texture of gauze bandages and a familiar sudden drop, “No.”

His hand ascended his left side. “Oblique… Sticky. Raw.”

“Chest. Is that a needle?” He continued to feel his way up his left pectoral, “Four, no. Five.”

Each needle pierced his skin and remerged mere centimetres away from the insertion point. They were arranged in a circle; something he would have thought of as artistic, on someone else, and then would have quickly excused himself for air and a ginger ale.

“Shoulder? Yes.”

“Arm?” the pads of his fingers traced along his arm, until he reached what would have formerly been his elbow, “sort of.”

  
“Well…Shit,” he thought to himself, becoming less numb by the second. He felt the room start to spin as the pain from his new ‘alterations’ began to collapse in on him. He felt stomach acid make it’s journey up his oesophagus, and into his mouth. He began to choke on it as it burned his tongue before making its way to destroy his cracked lips.

 He was suddenly pulled upright, and the acid began to pour from his mouth. He coughed relentlessly for a few moments, feeling the acid burning his lungs.

 

Choe opened his one operating eye, perhaps out of morbid curiosity. Blood soaked the clearly haphazardly placed bandages around his legs. Beside him knelt a young man, in his mid-twenties with short, black, messy hair and piercing blue eyes.

“The pain medicine is wearing off. Where is ‘Makishima’?” the man commanded.

“Fuck if I know,” he wanted to respond, but continued to cough.

The young man sighed and yanked Choe up by his right arm then roughly threw what little was left of him onto a nearby table; face down. The young man stood to the side of Choe and yanked his head back by his blood-matted hair. His lips nearly touched Choe’s ear, as he asked again “Where is ‘Makishima’?

The acid was making its way out of his airway and his coughs became less violent as he sarcastically responded, “Japan.”

The man dropped Choe’s head, turned and stood behind the mutilated man. The familiar jingle and clang of a belt and trousers falling to the floor made Choe seriously regret his answer.

 The familiar crinkle of a condom wrapper and squelch of lubricant made his skin begin to crawl. “Where is he? You could save yourself a lot of trouble.”

“Bullshit. Probably relieved of a few organs, three limbs burned off and the stumps probably infected? Save myself a lot of trouble?” he thought.

His mouth didn’t move.

“Suit yourself,” the younger man roughly yanked Choe’s body toward his own, until the stump formerly known as Choe’s left leg was dangling lifelessly off the edge of the table.

Without any warning, no preparation, he felt the man’s erection forcibly rip through his entrance.

The older man screamed. It was an odd feeling, screaming. He usually coolly smirked at the sound of another’s pain, but never imagined he would be making the same agonized sound someday. Or ever.

Shougo was always so gentle, so loving; he was careful to elicit pleasure, with as minimal pain as possible. Choe did scream, but never in pain.

The young man did not wait for the mutilated man to become accustomed to the intrusion and began to thrust at a violent, angry pace.  After what felt like an hour, the younger man began to thrust more wildly, before he finally came with a grunt. The young man pulled out of the elder man, being sure to leave the condom lodged inside him, but still visible externally. Semen dripped from the edges of condom onto his sack, eliciting a dry heave from Choe.

“I’m only going to ask this once more. Where. Is. ‘Makishima’?”

 

Choe’s mind wandered to the odd set of events that brought him to his current predicament. Being in bed, with Shogo resting comfortably in his arms. Picking up mysterious vats of foul-smelling liquids. Then… This.

 

He said nothing. No amount of physical torture could ever make him give up Shougo. The younger man accepted defeat and shuffled away, only to return a few moments later.

The young man quickly wrote something on what sounded like paper. He unceremoniously turned Choe onto his back and pulled him completely on to the table. He stood over Choe, looking down at him with… Pity? Shame?

He placed the paper on Choe’s chest and aligned the pen above it, then plunged it into the man’s chest.

Choe’s lungs began to fill with blood, and he began to cough again as the blood began to leak from his mouth and down the sides of his face. He heard the shuffling of clothes and the door slamming. Choe was left with the sound of his wet, agonized coughs. Even those suddenly stopped.

All that was left was the hum of an overhead fan and the rustling of the paper on which the young man had written the words:

 

 “We’re even.”


End file.
